Struggles
by partyyyyyy
Summary: Set after the ferry incident in spiderman homecoming. Intended angst, but failed very miserably. Trigger warning: self harm


**Hey guys! Really crappy story here sorry. I couldn't get the gist of this. And I tried, so I apologize in advance I know it's really really bad and I need more adjectives. Ran out of brain juices to write. Still, hope you like it and please leave reviews? Please?**

What have I done?

I chuckled mirthlessly. Who am I? In what place am I to blatantly assume that I am capable of dealing with such dangerous criminals Mr Stark has specifically instructed me to stay away from? After all, I am just an ambitious teenager that decided to take on the world without really knowing the way it works, am I not?

Perching on top of this building gave me a piece of calmness and serenity. Or was it the calm before the storm?

The scene kept replaying itself in my head. My witty retorts, vacuous and foolish behaviour that provoked the criminals…Consequences of my reckless actions, with complete disregard for civilians' safety…

I ripped off my mask, my hands playing mindlessly with the fabric in my hand.

What's next? Am I even qualified to be spiderman?

"Previously, on Peter…" Mr Stark announced his presence from behind me. I jumped, but kept my gaze fixated on the ground a hundred miles beneath me. The incessant whirring of my thoughts shut away his snarky voice. I wonder what would happen if I plunged down from this height. Will I die? Probably not, thanks to my enhanced healing factor. My gaze drifted across different structures in this city. A few are taller than this one I am currently placed on. Which one would grant my wish to wipe my sickening existence from this world?

Realisation dawned on me. Spiderman has always been associated with words such as incredible, amazing, saviour, considerate, caring etc. Is it though?

No, no. I believe the words you are searching for are repulsive, abhorrent, overestimating, nuisance, presumptuous, disturbance, burdensome, ignorant.

"Kid, you in there?"

I turned around and leaped off the ledge, then lifted my gaze at the red suit. A sudden surge of anger overcame me. What gave him the right to talk about what I have done when he himself did not bother to be present?

Apparently, stupid me couldn't keep my mouth shut because the next moment, Mr Stark hopped out from his metal suit and landed in front of me.

"I'm gonna need the suit back. Permanently."

Once again, my brain took me on a malfunctioning roller coaster that only seemed to increase its speed by the second. I tried to get off, but found heavy metal chains secured to my wrists and legs. I could feel my mouth moving, but I did not know what I was saying and did the air suddenly grow thin? Because I can't get enough oxygen, or nitrogen, or whatever's needed to keep my body functioning.

"Kid, if you aren't anything without the suit, then you shouldn't have it!"

It was nothing less of a harsh thrust back to reality. Reluctantly, I took off the suit and handed it back to him. I felt my legs carry me as fast as I could, darting around from street to street and shop to shop.

Home, I called out to ensure Aunt May wasn't home, before rushing to my room and slamming the door shut.

Then what?

What do I do now?

Mr Stark did not understand. Peter Parker was… mundane and messed up. He was horrible. Part of the reason he devoted so much time and effort in spiderman was because it helped him take his mind off things. It was an effective stress reliever as well. Being able to save and assist people was enjoyable, and spiderman loved it.

Peter Parker? He was a lost cause and a waste of resources. You see, he was a depressed kid who went to high school, then hurt himself because he could not deal with the stress from rigorous academics and being… compromised by his more hostile peers. He cried, and he was pathetic. His world became one that was black and white, occasionally dunked in a dose of grey, but that was it. He couldn't even try to be considerate and bawled like a baby in front of his aunt. His aunt had heavy black bags underneath her eyes from the strain of taking care of him - a laborious job indeed. He knew he was nothing but an irritation, that itch on your skin that never goes away.

He turned to something… disturbing. He would take certain sharp objects and draw pictures with it on his skin. The crimson liquid was his paint and the olive skin was his canvas. Lighters were practical as well. That flicker of light that produces heat energy was a delight. Grey solids that absorb heat would be placed atop that delectable flame, then harshly pressed into the soft skin of his. Metal, ah metal, what a useful tool, ain't it?

It has effectively taught him how to shut his mouth and deal with whatever was going on in his life. He knew his aunt already had a lot on her plate and he shouldn't have to put more weight on it because it would crash, and break into millions of little pieces that would scatter all over those ridiculously clean white tiles.

Then this spider came along, and granted him powers. He became clean after that, because he didn't have the time and energy to do it after patrolling the streets at night. A little colour might have seeped back to the hopeless void of his. Gradually, he took it for granted and actively abused that gift.

Peter stripped his boxers off and stared at the uneven skin hidden beneath the fabric. He was an imbecile but he wasn't entirely retarded that he would do it at such an obvious location that screamed attention. No, he did it because he knew he deserved to be punished and he deserved to feel pain. He has contemplated death before, but he knew death was too kind, too generous and people like him? They didn't deserve this peace and quiet.

At this point, I honestly didn't care if he broke his streak of being clean for 6 months because my dull mind had finally caught on and registered that it was inane to have ever thought being clean meant something.

Locking the doors, I dug out the stash of blades. Paying no heed to where I did it, I slashed it carelessly against my skin. The stupid enhanced healing ability just closed my skin up as if nothing had happened. Infuriated, I did it again and again and again, repeat, repeat, repeat. I picked up the lighter, lit up a wooden splint and placed it directly under my pale skin. I watched as the flame devoured my skin slowly and watched it grow red and angry until the pain hit me. I let the pain take over my senses and relished in it. More, I deserved more, for the people I hurt on that ferry, for disappointing Mr Stark, for not being able to save everyone and for being a constant regret in whatever I do.

It seems that I have run out of energy and exhausted my healing factor. Finally. I fought to keep my eyes open, to be awake and let the agony wash over me, but even that I can't do.

I woke up and found myself slumped against the bathtub. The next thing I noticed was Mr Stark, in a sweaty vest and work pants, oil smeared all over his face, hair tousled and in complete disarray. His disheveled and unkempt appearance was a rare sight so much that if the media got hold of this, it would instantly become the news headline.

"Mr… Stark?" The raspiness in my own voice shocked me. A bottle of water was shoved roughly into my hands. Gratefully, I opened the bottle and drained its contents greedily.

The fogginess in my brain seemed to clear a little after that, until the events of yesterday hit me like a freight train. The severity of the situation made me shoot up from the floor, only to crumble down and wince in pain.

"Peter, what in living hell were you thinking? In what universe did you feel like this," Mr Stark spoke so loud that he might as well have yelled in my ear. His hands made weird and dramatic gestures as if he was conducting an orchestra.

"Was appropriate?"

He glared at me intently, voice harsh and unrelenting. If it was any other day, I would've sworn I saw a flash of concern in those brown eyes. But who am I kidding, we all know nobody truly cares about Peter Parker. The only reason he was here was because Spiderman was a potential asset to the team, and he could not afford him being in such a vulnerable state.

Wait. I no longer am spiderman.

"What are you doing here?" I ventured, grabbing my shirt and putting it on.

"Answer. My. Question." He punctuated each word with heaviness, as if he was disciplining a 5 year old child. Well, it seemed felicitous, seeing as I act like one.

"You here for this? Eh, this is nothing, just a few drops of blood, no biggie. Don't freak, sir. Not like you haven't seen blood before."

I reached for my pants and yanked them on.

Bad move. The abrasive clothing brushed against my wounds. I hissed quietly.

"Nothi-? Seriously kid? If you're doing this for attention, I swear that spiderman suit will be destroyed once I get back to my tower."

"Attention? You think this is for attention?" I stopped. Then started laughing so hard that I covered my face with both of my hands.

"Ohhhh, you're funny, Mr Stark. Hey, where'd you get your sense of humor?"

"Peter. Answer. Me."

"How'd you even know anyway? Installing surveillance cameras is an extremely serious violation of privacy. You can get sued for that."

"Sue me, Peter, be my guest. Sue me because I care about you, sue me because I am looking out for you!"

I stood up, then leaned against the wall as a wave of dizziness washed over me. I felt hands on me. They guided me to the tub and made me sit on it.

"Please, Peter, talk to me. I know I don't show it, but I do care about you. Trust me when I say I've been at your place. Why do you think I wanted to be your mentor? Nobody was there for me when I went through all of this. I want to be here for you. Please? Would you let me in? Tell me what you're thinking, let me help you…"

As my vision cleared up, I stared into the man's eyes. The previous graveness has been replaced by concern and worry. A scarce sight indeed.

I know a genius/billionaire/playboy/philanthropist couldn't possibly care for a wreck like me, so I guess it didn't matter because once I told him, he would leave, and I would return to my previous life - trashed and worthless.

I took a deep breath, then told him everything. The distress, anxiety, stress, pressure, expectations and coping. He was a bafflingly good listener and seemed to genuinely take in everything I said.

When I finished, he stood up and engulfed me in a warm embrace.

"Peter, please. Tell me how you're feeling, let me know. You don't have to result to this. I know how you feel, believe me, I do. I, just, I have my own issues as well. I am not good at interpreting and expressing myself. I'm really sorry for everything that has happened to you. I want you to know that you can come to me, whether it's 4 in the morning, or 5 pm in the afternoon, whatever. I will be there for you. Please."

I was taken aback by his speech. He wasn't going to leave me…? Like everybody does?

"What?" I choked out, gaping and staring stupidly.

"I said, you can trust me, and I will help you."

"So, you are still going to be my mentor? Or are you just sticking with me because I am "looking for attention"?"

I took satisfaction in the way he tensed up.

"I'm sorry for being insensitive earlier. Peter, please, let me help you…?"

He seemed so genuine and sincere. I wanted to believe him, but I didn't know if I should. I didn't know when, but tears have started to roll down my cheeks and plopping down on the tiles.

"Okay." I whimpered. God this is pathetic.

"Can you please remove your pants then? I need to disinfect the wounds."

I must've looked like a kicked puppy, because then he said "I'm not mad. I understand people have their darknesses. Let me help you through yours?"

Hesitantly, I shrugged off my jeans. I heard a sharp intake of breath, then steady hands bandaging and wrapping different wounds scattered all across the tattooed figures.

Maybe, it was worth trying to be better.

"Another thing, please don't tell Steve about this? He will bug me about this to no ends."

Epilogue

"So, can I have the suit back then, Mr Stark?"

"No, Pete, not yet. You need to get better first, alright?"

"But sir, the suit MAKES me better!"  
"No, Pete. The suit defined you and gave you a temporary solution. You need to find a better coping mechanism."

 **Hope you guys liked it, even though it's exceptionally bad and abysmal. Please, guys, leave reviews, criticisms and comments a like. Highly appreciate you guys reading! Please please review please! Advice and suggestions are very welcomed. Thank you for reading!**


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